Chapter 4 Dying Breath of the North.

His face is a picture of high-altitude sharpness with a lot of scars. His eyes are the colour of a Northern blizzard, a pale silver that's both sharp and still. His hands are the scarred hands of a Knight Commander who has led a thousand battalions and weighed the lives of mortals against the hunger of the earth. But that hands right now squeezed a wet cloth, with water dripping into a basin underneath it.

Soren Vane Delve,  sitting in a chair beside the bed, stared absentmindedly at the wet cloth in his hands, his gaze empty. He sighed and placed the cloth on the edge of the basin. Turning away, he looked out of the window.

The snow is coming down hard, and it's colder than usual. Even inside the manor, with its thick walls and a fireplace roaring every hour, the cold still creeps in through cracks they don't even know about. He can hear the window creaking in the strong wind.

His mind wandered off somewhere. He focused on what was happening outside.

There was a young lady on the bed. She's got that same ethereal, glacial beauty as her brother, but her presence is a softer, more tragic echo of the Northern Ice. She looks like she was carved from the very same aurora that tears across the blue-purple skies of her homeland.

Her skin is as pale and flawless as the crystalline spires, with faint freckles like stray flakes of snow caught in the dying embers of a pale sun. Her lips are full and soft, often parted as if she's holding back some silent, unwavering hope. The colour of a hearthfire. Mordessa Valla was in a bit of a tough spot.

Her breathing was no longer the soft sound of most humans breathing. All that could be heard was the sound of her lungs making a clinking noise as glasses rubbed against each other. The disease she had was called ‘crystallization,’ and as she got older, her illness became progressively worse.

Soren put the wet cloth on his little sister's forehead. The air was icy cold, but Mordessa was running a high fever. He sat next to her, staring at her pale face. Mordessa's health had been getting worse In the cold. What's more, they lived in the north, where the sun was a rare sight, only making an appearance once a month at most. The sun hadn't come out at all for the past few years, ever since Arboris experienced a long winter.

Every time Mordessa breathed, it was a struggle because her body couldn't handle it. She was turning 21, youth should have brought brightness to her face. In reality, however, the disease had destroyed her body and left her looking miserable.

And it looked like all the medicine Mordessa had tried wasn't helping. She was spending most of her time at home, lying in bed, instead of enjoying her youth.

“Soren…” Mordessa called him, struggling to catch her breath. Soren hadn't heard her sister's cheery voice in a long time. It became familiar to hear her voice weak and raspy.

He moved up to her without saying a word and grabbed the towel that was half-dry. He wiped Mordessa's sweat-drenched body. “Mordessa, I'm still here. Mom and Dad aren't back yet, and Miliana is preparing dinner for you.”

Mordessa took a breath, letting it out slowly after taking a moment to fill her lungs with air. Soren wiped Mordessa's neck and chest, which were now starting to harden due to her illness.

Soren felt a lump in his throat, seeing how fragile his sister was. He wanted to bring Mordessa back to life and make her cheerful again. He pulled the blanket up to Mordessa's chest and softly stroked her hair. “You'll get better, Mordessa. I'm sure of it.”

Deep down, Soren wasn't sure about all the kind words he'd always said to Mordessa when she was at her most crucial stage. The more her condition worsened, the more he felt those words were lies.

Meanwhile, the sun, hidden from view, set somewhere. Darkness began to creep in through the window. The servants had already replaced the basin of water four times that day.

Mordessa had fallen back asleep after a long bout of coughing, but the man's eyes remained fixed on her.

The door opened from the outside, letting in the dim light from the hallway light. Soren turned and saw his parents enter Mordessa's bedchamber. They'd just returned from the city, where they'd gone to the king's funeral.

The round trip from north to south by horse-drawn carriage took two weeks. However, they cut the journey short and headed back immediately after coming into contact with the high-ranking officials.

They were worried about what had happened to Mordessa. It was the first time they had left their sick daughter.

“Hey, sweetie.” Hilda smiled warmly, though she looked tired. The cloak she'd worn on the long journey still had the scent of wet, slightly dirty ground. A maid came inside and helped them take off their cloaks, gloves, and hats.

Even though they were clearly exhausted, their parents rushed to see Mordessa when they heard that her condition had worsened. Hilda kissed Soren's forehead before he slowly got up and moved to the side of the bed, making room for his parents to hold their little sister. They padded over to Mordessa's bed, looking at her, touching her, and kissing her carefully.

"We're back, my love," Dragan whispered in Mordessa's ear, his voice warm and gentle.

They were sitting pretty close to Mordessa's bed. After having trouble falling asleep, Mordessa finally managed to fall asleep. The servants had prepared hot tea on the small table.

“How was the funeral?” Soren started talking, his eyes on Mordessa the whole time. He watched his sister's chest move up and down slowly.

Dragan let out a sigh and said, "We weren't there when the ceremony started. We just wanted to offer our condolences and a quick way to bid farewell. It's just that the palace feels so cold and eerie after the king's death. What is it? Uh, it just feels so empty..." His hand didn't let go of Mordessa's.

"What about the boy?" Soren asked, looking a bit puzzled.

“The Crown Prince?”

“His Majesty now,” Hilda corrected her husband, who still called Lucian 'crown prince.' "He looks lost. I saw him sitting on the throne, but he didn't seem to be paying attention to what was happening around him. His mom passed away when he was 11, and now, 10 years later, his dad has passed away, and he's the only heir to the throne. I think it's been rough on him."

"He was always in church as a kid, wasn't he?" Soren asked again, annoyed that someone was leading his country so "weak" and "lost." “A religious king who's not strong like a soldier or even skilled like a politician. He'll only end up killing himself on that throne.”

“Soren..” Dragan gave his eldest son a hard stare. “You shouldn't be so quick to judge someone just because he spends his time in church instead of working on himself to be a crown prince. Crown Prince, I mean...King Lucian, as he's known, can't really turn down or argue for the throne, because he's the only one who can claim it in the kingdom.”

"Besides, I think something happened to the Mother Tree."

"The Mother Tree?"

"Yeah, the tree that's been Arboris's guardian for ages looks pretty fragile. The leaves in that big canopy look flimsy," Dragan said again.

Hilda smiled slightly and took Soren's hand, gently stroking it. His hand was so big compared to hers. Without saying a thing, she pulled Soren in close, which made Dragan stand up and come over to Mordessa's bed, where she was still having a hard time breathing. The family was there for each other, and they didn't say much. The Delve family was really close-knit, and they loved and supported each other.

A month had passed, the sky was still gray, but the snow had stopped completely. Deep in the shadow of the High Citadel, among the jagged peaks of the Northern mountains, is where the elite knight unit is located. It's a place of Iron and Ice, where the air is always crisp and has that sharp, pine-needle and cold-steel smell.

The landscape here is dominated by the imposing grandeur of the permafrost, with snow-capped peaks rising up to a sky that's all shades of bruised violets and soft amber as the sun gradually fades.

The camp itself is a tactical labyrinth of canvas and timber, illuminated by the flickering, defiant warmth of hearthfires at night. Cold was still biting outside, and Soren was still with his knights, training with his chest exposed. He spent his days as Commander of the Basalt-Keep, training and preparing the other knights for any situation. Although his mind was all about Mordessa.

Mordessa's condition had worsened last week, worse than it had been in years. He tried to spend the day trying not to think about her too much, but he couldn't even sleep in his own room. He spent the nights in his sister's room with his mom, Hilda.

“How's Lady Mordessa doing?” Soren turned when he heard a voice.

Captain Valerick. His second-in-command. His eyes, a stunning shade of molten amber, stare out with breathtaking intensity. His face, framed by damp, dark hair that falls carelessly across his forehead, is a masterclass in sharp angles and strict discipline. His micro-expressions are completely under control as usual.

“I still have to find a new medicine for her, though,” Soren replied, taking Valerick's half-full water bottle. He drank it all down, then looked over at the knights practicing swordsmanship not far in front of him.

The two were under a tree in the middle of the training grounds.

“Is her symptoms getting worse?”

Soren didn't respond with words, he just nodded his head to show what Valerick said was right.

One of Mordessa's fingers was now as hard as her chest and neck. Soren felt a pang in his chest when he thought about it. His father was a Marquis, and he was a Knight Commander here, but he felt like he couldn't do anything to save his only sister.